


Sounds and Senses

by atrimea



Category: Blue Neighbourhood | Wild - Troye Sivan (Music Videos), youtube - Fandom
Genre: Almost Sex, Atrimea, Blue Neighborhood, Established, Fluff, Fluffy Smut, Hotel Sex, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Music, Photos, Senses, Smut, pretty thoughts, tronner, troye sivan - Freeform, wild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-05 17:12:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5383727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atrimea/pseuds/atrimea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>fluff fluff fluff fluff fluff and maybe a little smut toO<br/>A bunch of one shots about their relationship <br/>Connor has pretty thoughts. </p><p>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Beautifully written piece of literature - the (too full of herself) author. 
> 
> Them making out and Connor being all poetic.

A sharp breath. A sigh. A word. A name.

  
An Orchestra happens when they start to kiss, Connor doesn't expect any less of the boy with a million songs up his sleeve . A part of him wonders if Troye will ever write about this moment, if Troye can feel everything he is feeling. 

  
He places his hands on Troye's back, beneath his shirt and starts to kiss him on his neck. He knows how to make Troye sing.

He hears half of his name amidst the soft sounds Troye makes, and he wants to record every moan and whisper and groan and make it immortal. But he only thinks this, his heart beating faster and faster, as Troye changes scale and pitch, singing to Connor's touch. 

  
His own skin burns, because  it feels like Troye has dipped his hands in whiskey and stardust, and his mouth in god knows what, leaving  traces of fire all over him with his relentless hands. 

He thinks they should stop, or at least he likes to believe that's he doesn't lose all logic when he starts to kiss Troye. 

  
But he needs more skin and he needs more fire, so he pulls away to tear this blue printed thing from troye's shoulders. The blue printed thing doesn't belong there, Connor's lips do. he smiles when he thinks that.

  
Troye bites him on the lip, hands teasing Connor's aching skin, and then it's Connor's turn to moan into their music. 

And troye's turn to decide that connor's shirt belongs to the floor, and then connor can feel the cold wooden door against his skin. Ice and fire.  So much contrast in his life.

  
He smiles into troye's mouth as hands run down his chest and stomach and back. He thinks of the Orchestra once again, and this time he is the instrument, tight and wound and full of sounds waiting to be discovered. And troye is a musician, making Connor tremble beneath his intricate rhythm. 

  
he pushes Troye, so delicately , so sweetly, and laughs at his own kindness. but Troye moves back to sit on the bed, and still they kiss. 

  
Connor hates that he is comparing all his previous kisses to this, drunken one night stands, the awkward dates, and then kisses from when he was fourteen and fifteen. He hates that his mind won't go blank, but he loves that nothing compares to the warm feeling flooding his heart and veins right now, something he only ever feels when troye gives him his undivided attention. 

  
He feels fingers on his waistband, he feels ready to let go, he feels like he is about to burst with all these thoughts inside him. 

  
He feels like taking a million photos of this moment, but he only stores it in his memory, saving it for weaker moments.

  
A phone rings and of course its important , and of course they need them for the photoshoot or whatever. and of course Troye picks up.  
"Yeah" he clears his throat. "We-I'll be down in five" five minutes later Connor gets the same phone call, and ten minutes later they can't ignore their phones anymore.  
But god, they can't stop kissing, even after they get dressed, even in the lift. its so risky, and so good.


	2. Aroma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Troye changes something, and Connor is nuts for it, or beans!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My hands slipped!   
> Sorry!

Sweetness seeps into him when he pulls his arms around his boyfriend. Troye grins at him.   
"Like what you smell?" And he does, so much.   
"Did you drench yourself in coffee?" Troye giggles, which makes Connor laugh sweetly.  
Sweet. Sweet. Sweet. His boyfriend. being sweet.

Years later, He rememebers only the cologne, which turned into a secret joke between them, and that feeling of everything being right.

There is nothing special about that day, except connor can feel the wonder of all the things he has now, that he never had before. He has seldom imagined that something like this would happen to him.

Oh, but it has, and Connor, flooding with emotion he cannot place, kisses this boy he loves more than any coffee in the world on the lips.

They look at each other for a moment, each feeling so much, and smile a bit.  
"You smell like my favorite thing!" 

"I thought I was your favorite thing!"

Again the giggles, and the laughter, and the love, stickingly sweet like honey.   
Connor rolls his eyes and kisses him again, giddy with the smell of coffee, and the taste of love.


	3. Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on Ease, Troye comes back from tour and needs comfort.

Troye feels the relief in every part of him, and the guilt inside his throat, it seizes up his vocal chords. He is speechless, voiceless. The world is rough, shards of glass scratching him everywhere. But he is also happy, happy it's finally over.

He shouldn't be, he should have come home to beautiful life Changing memories of fun, but all he remembers is the loneliness, the unsettling feeling, the unfeeling.   
He has a cab ready, his hood pulled up, and his eyes looking out for anyone who might identify him.

He finds his cab and gets it. Going to Connor's house rather than his own.   
As soon as Connor let's him in, he throws himself into Connor clutching at his shirt, a million days of unshead tears falling into the grey shirt Troye so dearly associates with Connor.

Connor presses himself into Troye, worry replacing sleep. He put his hands on Troye's back and held him as racking sobs hit him one after the other, promising never to stop.   
"Troye?"   
"I love you" it sounds so desperate, like not saying it was eating him inside out.   
"I missed you, it-it was so bad con, I was losing it- I didn't th-think it would be like that"   
Connor let him go, holding his face in his hands, and looking right into his eyes, says, "you're home now baby"

"yeah" "yeah I am" and then Troye smiles so, so softly, making Connor's heart hurt.   
Connor pulls Troye into his arms once more, and hopes for this to go away tomorrow, knowing too well that it won't.   
After ten minutes or thirty minutes or forever, he asks Troye, who has almost fallen asleep on his shoulder.

"bed?"   
"yeah"

Connor holds Troye tight while he sleeps soundly for the first time in months, and Connor stays awake, thinking about Troye, for the hundredth time in months.

Finally, after about three hours, he stops rubbing circles on Troye's arm and whispers, "I love you too"   
Troye never hears this, but Connor knows that he will find a way to say it again soon, maybe even tomorrow.

Troye dreams about calm things, in his bed that never Jerks, and a sleep, that finally he can have at night, beside his boyfriend.


	4. Paint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor misses Troye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello memefriends 
> 
> I didn't think I was gonna write more but I read the comments and I was flattered and inspired and I thought why not!   
> (should I try for some other pairing too?) 
> 
> Anyway thank you for supporting me! It's so cool to see that at least I'm good at something lol

Troye was rarely home, and rarely okay, and rarely told anyone about it. Connor was always missing him, but Connor missing Troye was not going to stop tour dates from lining up and songs from being written. 

It felt like Troye was slipping away, his energy lost in the crowds and cameras. 

Troye could only be himself at home, and he was himself, only the part of himself that slept, a lot. 

Things change.   
He didn't think they would.   
Or maybe he didn't want to.

They used to paint each other's nails.

Now, Connor did it himself, on the nights that he missed someone who was still there, left hand clumsy and awkward, trying to compensate for the missing person. 

Pink, like cotton candy, blue like the sky, Yellow, like the sun, did you know van gogh used to eat yellow paint to try and feel happy. Did you know you could miss someone so much that it made you want to eat yellow paint.

Connor tried to take in the shards of  sunlight spilling out of his Windows. Feel bright. 

Troye came home two hours later, midnight against Connor's afternoon, eyes sleepy, lips aching from smiling all day, head aching from the questions that made no sense.

His life made little sense sometimes.

He looked at Connors nails and took a deep breath. "They look great" , he smiled again, even though it hurt.

"I miss you" Connor said   
Did you know too much nail polish can make you say stupid things to tired people who don't deserve it.

"me too"   
Troye hugged Connor, closed his eyes, and prayed for anything but this moment to happen.

The silence hung between them.   
There was nothing they could really do.

"breathe, okay?" Troye whispered

"I know you're trying your best" Connor whispered back.

"were both trying our best" 


	5. Lyrics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Troye draws inspiration from Connor for the words he cannot find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have an Instagram and tons of free time, also love making friends ayeee  
> ( @twishalive ) 
> 
> Also wattpad! ( @atrimea) 
> 
> And I hope this one isn't sad??? Well I mean it is but I still hope it isn't

_the sky is black and white_  
_I can see words printed inside your blue eyes_  
_They repeat like poetry_  
_I can see words printed inside your blue eyes_  
_They repeat like poetry_

Troye traced his fingers softly over the arm of his sleeping boyfriend, _wrist to finger to bone, linger._

His brain always seemed to rhyme around connor, the boy seemed to be teaching Troye the art of writing, as if he would cease to see beauty without Connor.

_Eyes so bright, I could love you all night, the world seems stupid without you here please don't ever leave._

Connor's skin was soft, hair messily,helplessly softening his face, sleeping angel, full of love, full of hope, Troye thought.

His nails,painted blossoming blooming blue were on the verge of chipping away to forgotten places, like this memory would be.

Troye held Connor's hand, unwilling but also hoping for him to wake up.

_I'd rather die then see us lose faith in our hearts_  
_I'd rather lie than believe I don't love you anymore_

He let go of Connor's hand, soft palm, and looked up at the ceiling.  
He wanted to write a book.  
He wanted to sleep.

He wanted a different life.  
He wanted to not be afraid of something going wrong.

He wanted to sleep.

_It seems as if time froze your heart_  
_But forgot to let me know_  
_Now you're left behind_  
_And I'm changing tides_  
_Now you're all the same_  
_But I've changed my mind_

Troye wrote it all down into his book.  
He thought, he should cry, but maybe things don't always go as you'd think.

He painted his the colour of unwillingness and fear.

And he let himself forget, though he hated forgetting, exactly how to feel.


	6. The good side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wanted a career in music  
> He'd made a career in fucking up

 

He'd wanted a career in music. 

He'd made a career in fucking up.

They didn't even talk anymore.

 

Troye held his breath, don't breathe into the microphone. Don't breathe into the microphone. Don't breathe into the microphone. 

Twenty messeges left on read, a lifetime of stories, a hundred plans. They never went to Hawai together. He should have taken Connor when he had the chance.

Now he was writting songs about him, things he had no right to say. He knew connor would still listen to his songs, and a sinister part of him was thinking that maybe this was punishment for not replying to his messages.

But the other parts of him wailed and begged. Listen to his voice, they would scream, at midnight, at noon, at four am before a shoot. 

Stop. Stop. Stop.

You deserve pain, they said. Tell him you're sorry. You got busy. You got busy and you left him. 

He didn't think about Connor's fingers clumsily playing La Vie En La Rose on his Piano. He didn't think about drunken kisses, didn't think about soft kisses, slow kisses, sad kisses, the absence of kisses. Didn't think about reading books sitting side by side, lying down in parks and making up constellations on Christmas Eve, didn't think about selfies in bed, didn't think about laughing, didn't think about- he thought about their last night together.

How his own house seemed strange after so long. How for a second, he thought, maybe they could try again.

 

But they didn't. 

 

And Troye was breaking.


End file.
